Remember
by Mitchekie
Summary: Family. What does it mean... to be in a family? Perhaps it means nothing more than the love, comfort, friendship, and support one receives from those around them, and in his heart, Red knows that Chuck and Bomb already provide this. And yet, despite it all, he can't help but wonder what exactly did happen to his birth parents. Maybe this time he'll find out...
1. Chapter 1

"Red? Red... Red, are you paying attention?"

Red jumped. He had been day-dreaming off again. Of course he would be asked a question now, right in the middle of climbing the mountain... The third and final mention of his name acted as something of a bullet, swiftly released via a well-aimed shot of contempt and impatience, and it pierced him something terrible.

"Hu- Huh..? Y-Yes, Ma'am?" little Red stammered, flinching at the bite of the shot, which still stung horribly. He rubbed his wing unconsciously, as if rubbing at something physical would somehow ease the mental burn of anxiety and embarrassment.

"Red, we were just discussing the topic of our national anthem and Mighty Eagle's motto. Can you please tell us what that anthem and motto are?"

Red froze. All eyes in the classroom were upon him, including that of the teacher... whose gaze was so trained on Red that it seemed as if she hoped continually staring in his direction would somehow suck the answer right out of him. All it did was drop the temperature several degrees, however; at least, for Red it certainly seemed to.

"Um... Um... y-yes, Ma'am," he mumbled, hating the solidity of the floor beneath his feet. Mud would be much better. Or water. He could sink into it and disappear. Or maybe lava even. That would be cool. Lava was red. He was red, too. No one would even notice he'd sunk into it...

"Red...?" the teacher asked again, a tighter clench around the words this time.

"Um..."

Red shook his head forcefully and frowned. He could snap out of this. This was no time for daydreaming. And at least he knew the answer to the question this time. He took a deep breath...

"Upon this treasured mighty rock,  
Were borne a great and mighty flock,  
Cried out from one among the troop,  
Let us establish here our coup,  
'Tis then forever nestled we,  
To thine own shores so young and free,  
So be ye yolked to land or air,  
Soar with pride and settle there,  
Know to thine own self be true,  
Peace to thee and strength to you."

In forced silence, Red exhaled gratefully before allowing himself a few gulps of much-needed air. He couldn't help but let the tiniest of smiles escape his beak as he stared around the room at his fellow classmates. That was the exact anthem, word-for-word, and he had nailed it. Even know-it-all Riley in the front row couldn't top that one.

"Very good, Red," said the teacher. Quiet and contained though her response was, Red could tell that she was impressed. "That was the anthem. Now could you please recite the motto?"

A bit more confident, Red cautiously released a slightly wider smile before continuing on.

"Honor, humility, bravery, and more!  
That's what make Eagles worth fighting for!"

"Very good, Red! Remember that, everyone. Altogether now!"

And the class repeated...

"If you're honorable, humble, brave, and true... you've the heart of an eagle. Yes, even you!"

* * *

Red lay awake in his bed, beak facing the ceiling, wide open eyes staring up into nothingness. Both wings were clenched tightly to a soft, albeit lightly stained and sea-worn, blanket. His face wore the expression of a lost, forlorn, middle-aged man who wondered what the heck he was doing with his life and why he was lying here under a tomato-stained blanket when he knew full well that he could have a much more comfortable living situation if he put some actual effort into it. As if to find some excuse for his procrastination, he looked down at the blanket. Vaguely, he wondered where the tomato stains had come from. He didn't even like tomatoes... He also wondered what the heck it was that he was going to do today to pass the time. Nothing new; he was almost certain of that. Tired of laying there doing nothing, he got up, resolving that if he was at least going to do nothing all day he might as well get some exercise while doing it...

 _Creak, creak, creak_.

Down the plank-wood steps he went, from the second floor of his little bachelor pad to the first, emphasizing each step by way of heavily landing on the planks. He was a bit angrier than usual this morning at having nothing at all planned to do today, and so he was taking out his anger on the poor boards. It felt good to stomp on them.

 _One, two, three, four..._

It felt good to _stamp_ on them steps and feel the solidity of the wood beneath his feet without a care in th-

"AHH...! OOMPH!"

... without a care in the world...

Red pried his now plastered face off the floor and shook his ruffled bed feathers before looking back over his shoulder at the now completely destroyed step. The flustered cardinal sighed deeply. Well, he hadn't exactly factored in the thing breaking, with him landing spread-eagled on the floor, but... at least it would give him something to do today. Picking himself up off the sandy ground, Red smoothed out his feathers and chuckled quietly to himself in mock disgust. He broke the step. How fortuitous. Now he could keep himself preoccupied a la fixing it, and he loved to build and fix things. This was cause for celebration...

As Red walked over to an old wooden chest beneath the stairs and rummaged in it for some tools, he hummed a little tune to himself, thankful for the opportunity to keep busy and not feel like a completely useless waste of space like he often felt. He pulled out a hammer, a small box of nails, and a halved coconut partially filled with paste before closing the chest and making his way back to the broken step. Setting his tools down, he made for the door to go down to the beach and find some wood.

Wait...

Coffee. He needed coffee.

With one foot out the door, he abruptly stopped, swiveled around, and shut the door behind him without even looking at it before lazily marching to the kitchen for a brew.

The "kitchen" actually wasn't much of a kitchen at all, but merely consisted of a short clay counter, two halved coconuts (one for holding coffee grounds; the other for housing sugar, which was rarely used), a wooden spoon, a large bucket below and to the right side of the counter... which was filled to the brim with fresh water, a cupboard below the counter of whose malnourished belly consisted of miscellaneous items for cooking with, and the smallest little fire pit you ever did see set into the counter, perfect for heating up coffee and not much else. It was this little pit of leaves and twigs that Red lit a match to before turning his attention to a small shelf set in the wall near the counter. On this shelf was a mug - a particularly nicely crafted one with a fire design set in the middle. Red had made this mug himself _specifically_ for coffee, because only the finest coffee grounds on the island deserved only the finest of mugs and, being as picky of a bird as he was, the finest mug in the village could only _possibly_ be designed and approved by him. And so he spent an entire day crafting a mug and that was the end of it, and it was this prized little cup that he scooped a spoonful of Premium Fire-Roasted Pecked-to-Perfection Bird Island Coffee grounds into. The most important deed done, he then pulled a round, crimson kettle out from under the cupboard, scooped some water from the bucket, and set it over the fire to heat and bubble.

Red leaned up against the counter, cheeks squashed a little as he rested his head in his arms. He stared at the fire. Despite the small size of the fire pit, the flames leaped and danced as happily as if they had an entire forest to swim in, and he could feel the heat of their dance warm and comforting against his feathers. It felt nice, resting there; listening to the crackle of the twigs by his side... and the repetitive, yet melodic, sound of the sea outside his window as its morning waves kissed and licked at the shore-line. Sometimes he wished that he were those waves. Sometimes he felt that he was them...

" _Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!_ " blew the kettle with a shrill whistle, whipping Red back into reality. He jumped a little and quickly blew out the fire before pouring himself a hot cup of coffee.

He breathed in the fresh, bitter scent of the grounds, smiling in spite of himself, and set the cup down on the counter to let the water cool off a bit. Then he went outside, grabbed some sturdy wood from a broken log off the beach, and went back to work on the step. Best make good use of his time while waiting. He picked up a nail and...

Wait.

Music. He needed music.

Red was probably one of the few birds on the island that actually owned a record player. It was probably the one in the finest condition too, considering how lovingly he took care of it. This was usually found chilling in his treasure chest too, but not today. Plucking it out, he set it up near the stairs, returning to the chest only for a moment to pick out the perfect record to listen to while working - the kind of hammer-in-the-nails type music that would get him more in the mood for this kind of task. Steve Miller would do.

Now, angry bird though Red often was, he wasn't entirely adverse to anything and everything enjoyable. In the realm of music, it was quite the contrary, for he was something of a musical connoisseur and wouldn't turn down a good beat and meaningful lyrics if it suited his taste. "Fly Like an Eagle", in particular, was one of his guilty pleasures. Perhaps the fact that it had "eagle" in the title had something to do with it, seeing as Red was (or, at least, used to be) a great admirer of Mighty Eagle, but were you to point this out to him the first and immediate response you'd get would be a sharp glance and a firm "NO" in exasperation, followed by a rather lengthy monologue about how it was _clearly_ the deep and powerful message coating the lyrics that caught his attention and how no random word in the title had absolutely anything to do with it. Red was convinced that this was the perfect (and, for the most part, accurate) cover up. Everyone else was not in the least bit fooled, especially one bird in particular...

It was as Red was hammering in the first nail, while simultaneously singing, "... time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'...," that said bird made his usual appearance.

"Hey, Chuck," Red muttered, without even bothering to look over his shoulder to see who was there.

The little bullet was early. Not that Red had much of a problem with this. Even though Chuck had a house, he seemed to spend more time at Red's place these days than in his own abode. Red suspected that he did this to keep him company, which Red appreciated, even though he would never dare admit it. Lately, it had become something of a routine for Chuck to pop in in the mornings, greet Red as fast as he possibly could, and ask him what he'd like to do for the day. The last few days, Red had enjoyed hanging out with Chuck and Bomb, but today, even though he had initially complained to himself about having nothing to do, he would still rather spend time alone. Some days... he just needed some private time.

"Good morning, Red!" came the quick reply, followed by sounds of slurping...

Red let his hand - and hammer - thump to the floor and sighed. He knew he was doing it. He knew he was drinking his coffee without even bothering to ask.

"Ugh. How can you drink this stuff? It's just water," Chuck exclaimed, already having downed the entire cup, one eye now peering into the mug to spot out the last few dregs at the bottom.

"It's. C _offee_...," grumbled Red.

"But it's got no caffeine in it! Red, you're not supposed to drink watered coffee."

"Chuck, that's because you drink like... ten cups of espresso a day, man," Red retorted, finally easing painfully up off his knees to personally confront Chuck, hammer still in his hand.

"Ha-ha-ha. Ten... Red, you're funny," Chuck giggled, draining the last poor drops and setting the mug carefully back on the counter. Red was still walking towards him with the hammer, but Chuck didn't seem to notice. "Welp, thanks for the coffee, Red! See you later!" And he zoomed out the door...

"THANKS FOR DRINKING ALL OF MY COFFEE!" Red yelled after him.

"You're welcome!" came a distant reply.

Red groaned in utter vexation and proceeded to employ a much-needed facepalm. "Ohhhh, there's a solution!" sang out the Steve Miller Band in the background.

"Not for that bird," Red muttered in reply, slamming the door behind him... only to have it be ardently rapped upon... hard... two seconds later. "Ugh! Yes?!" he nipped back, swiveling around and promptly flinging the door wide open.

"Wanna hang out?" Chuck asked, smiling brightly as he stood in Red's doorway, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet hopefully.

"Why didn't you ask me that before?!" Red snapped, not at all in the mood for this. He just wanted to have a peaceful day of... peace, filled with Steve Miller music and preferably undrunk coffee.

"I... forgot...," replied the little yellow bird, giving a toothful and apologetic grin. "Anyway, Bomb and I are gonna go golfing and you should totally come with. Just sayin'."

"Or, actually, I could just stay here and enjoy my day like I was _trying_ to do!" Red said. Normally, he would be coming dangerously close to boiling point, but he was more sarcastically playing with Chuck than anything. True, he was rather bummed about the coffee, and he was intending to spend the day to himself for once, but Chuck, annoying though he could be, was still one of his best friends, and he couldn't help but find his antics rather hilarious sometimes, if not altogether completely ridiculous.

" _ORRRRRRR_... you could come have fun with us and do something _not_ boring, am I right?" Chuck said, flipping back the retort and nudging Red with his elbow.

"Chuck, so help me, I will use this hammer...," said Red, actually brandishing the thing in front of Chuck's face. But Chuck wasn't listening.

"Come on! Let's go!"

And he grabbed Red by the wing and pulled him out the door.

"Wait! We'll bring your music, too...," Chuck said, rushing back inside and popping out literally half a second later, record player in tow.

"Chuck, w-wait...! I...!"

"Come on!"

And without pretty much any choice at this point, Red found himself being forcefully pulled by Chuck a ways down the beach, Steve Miller Band singing, "I want to fly like an eagle... to the sea...," all the way down...

* * *

"FOOOOOOUUUUUUUUR!" Chuck yelled, his well-aimed shot hitting the ball so hard that it flew some miles out over the ocean and into the sea. "Oh... Red, do you have another...?"

But Red had already cleaned and handed Chuck another golf ball, his eighth one this hole.

"Thanks," Chuck replied, setting it down on the green and taking precise aim again.

"Why do they say, 'FOUR!' before they hit a ball?" Bomb asked, pacing around on the green to pass the time. "Why don't they say 'FIVE!' or 'TWENTY-SIX!' You know?"

"Bomb. Man. I honestly don't care," Red replied, leaning on his golf stick and enjoying the one thing he could enjoy right now: the sea breeze.

"Maybe it's 'cause the first guy who ever played golf was like... trying to get his ball into the hole and he finally got a hole-in-one on his fourth shot and he was so excited he screamed out, "FOOOUUUUURRRR!" 'cause he got it in on the fourth shot, you know?" offered up Chuck, so satisfied with his explanation that he yelled out, "FOOUUUUR!" again as he hit the ball for the eighth time. And this time... it actually went in the hole...

"Oh... my gosh...," said Chuck, actually running up to the flag to see the truth for himself. "OH MY GOSH!" he yelled from far away, running back up to Red and Bomb. "You guys! I got a hole-in-one! EEEEEE!"

"Hey, not bad, man!" Bomb said happily, offering up a high-five to Chuck... which he gladly returned, jumping up and slapping Bomb's hand with the utmost enthusiasm.

"More like a hole-in-eight. How the crap did you even get it in the hole with the flag still in there?!" Red exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

"Maybe it was a fluke?" asked Bomb, shrugging as he picked up the one golf bag they had brought and hauling the clubs down to the hole, Red stepping in sync next to him. Chuck, of course, was so excited that he couldn't keep at the same pace, but was running down to and around the hole like some little kid, occasionally looking inside to make sure that the ball was still there.

"Nice shot!" Red called to Chuck as he and Bomb drew near.

"Mmm! Thanks!" popped back the happy little bird, finally pulling the ball out of the hole, rubbing it so that it shined, and kissing it. "You're my lucky ball and you're staying with _me_ ," he said, keeping a secure grip on it as he walked with Red and Bomb to Hole 2.

"You're just gonna lose it on the next hole," Red said, rather unthoughtfully.

"Hey! Don't say that to Chucky!"

"Chucky?!"

"My ball!"

"Your ball...?"

"He didn't mean it, Chucky. No he didn't..."

"... No comment...," Red said, looking at Chuck a little concernedly.

"All right! Who wants to go first?" Bomb inquired, planting his club firmly in the grass as he looked out over the second hole. "Gonna have to watch the wind on this one..."

Red nodded, also noticing the pick up in the breeze, and stopped to look out over the green. It was quite a pretty course. Set atop one of Bird Island's cliffs, it sported a beautiful scenic view of the ocean, made all the more serene by the usual melodic swishing and swaying of the grass and tree leaves as a light breeze traveled its way through the jungle. It was, indeed, a lovely day for golfing, but Red still would rather have spent it back home...

"You guys go first. I want to spend a little more time with Chucky," Chuck mumbled, all attention focused on the little white ball nestled carefully in his wing.

"Chuck, you need help," Red let fly, a bit lost in thought himself. The ocean looked so peaceful from up here. The morning sun, bright and golden, seemed to greet the day with a long, thin veil that slipped down into the depths below, its train lifted up with watery fingers to float at the top... draped over the sea and sparkling like that of so many silvery stars. He had to admit that it was beautiful. It was beautiful... and yet... There was something about it that was unsettling; or, rather, there was something about being in this particular location, high above the water, that unsettled him. Whatever it was, he couldn't put his finger on it, and that frustrated him.

"Hey... You okay there, buddy?"

Red jumped a little and snapped out of his stupor. Bomb, always the attentive one, was usually the first to notice when something was wrong, and he was now gazing at Red with concerned, inquiring eyes.

"Y-Yeah... I'm fine. Just... a little tired is all..."

"Yeah, I know how that is. Got up kinda late myself!" And Bomb stretched to emphasize it.

Red didn't bother to correct him. Bomb was attentive, but he also missed the mark sometimes without realizing it.

"Hey! You guys gonna hit or what?" Chuck called, leaning on his club, a dry and expectant look on his face.

* * *

At 8:14 PM, Red hammered in the last of the nails and stepped back to admire his work. He squeezed the board with his wing and stepped on it to test its stability. For added measure, he jumped on it... hard. Not a creak. Nor a give. He smiled satisfactorily. Perfect.

He put his tools away and brewed up a second cup of coffee, this time keeping an eye on the mug. Not that there was any need. Chuck had had his fill of friendship for the day, and Red had had more than enough. Bomb had been shooting furtive glances at him almost the entire time they played golf... as if _he_ would be the one to blow up this time, something that greatly annoyed Red but that he kept his mouth shut about regardless. Chuck had noticed as well that something was up, although his approach was to give Red some space and only occasionally direct a particularly concerned glance his way. Considering Chuck's nature, Red was rather surprised by this, but grateful. All-in-all, he was happy to be home.

As he sank his butt into his cozy, battle-worn chair in the living room, Red closed his eyes, held his coffee mug close to his chest feathers to warm them, and listened to the ebb and flow of the waves outside...

He opened his eyes. He had only been resting for five minutes, but something pulled him up and out of the chair and over to the window...

The tide seemed rather hesitant this evening; it was pulled back more than usual. Red rested his wings upon the windowsill and laid his head upon them as he stared out at the water, watching the nightly dance of the sea at it flowed in and out.. in and out... in and out...

Like the pull of the ocean as it latched mercilessly on to the sand, the rocks, and the shoreline, something reached its hand into the depths of Red's memory, grasped with an intensely firm grip, and pulled up from the bottom a recollection long since forgotten.

"Remember! If you're honorable, humble, brave, and true, you've the heart of an eagle! Yes, even you! Altogether now! If you're honorable, humble, brave, and true..."

"... you've the heart of an eagle. Yes, even you...," uttered Red out loud.

He'd forgotten. How long had it been since he'd recited those words? Every week in class he used to say them as a child, yet somewhere down the line... what had once been ingrained in his memory had somehow sifted down and become locked in one of the many drawers of information lining his brain. He'd like to think he had the heart of an eagle. He had done his village a great honor, after all, by leading in the rescue of the eggs. He hoped he'd shown humility through it all. Bravery, of course, was a given in said situation. And true...? Well, he rarely hesitated to voice his mind, so honesty wasn't a problem either. Perhaps he did have the heart of an eagle after all. He smiled at the thought, but it was short-lived. Something still hurt. Something still bit at him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

And then he remembered. It couldn't have been less obvious if it was staring him right in the face. Family. He missed his family. And yet, how could he miss them? He had never known them. Perhaps longing was a better word - a longing to know what had happened. No parents had ever claimed him. Not a soul had ever come to call. The sad fact of life that he had been an orphan since birth used to eat away at him like a virus, but these days he usually kept that memory counter top washed and clean. No use digging up old bones that refused to disintegrate. But, for some reason, they had been dug up again anyway. In his heart, he knew that his true family was already right there with him - Chuck and Bomb. But that tick - that longing for some form of clarity - plucked at him anyway. Not that he hadn't done some digging of his own in the past: asking the local nursery and orphanage for information - contacts; sightings; samples; anything. His efforts had returned fruitless. No one knew what had happened, or perhaps had refused to explain further, and so the only thing to it was to search them out himself, something he'd been putting off for years... more out of fear at what he might discover than anything. But what if...?

That night, as he pulled his tomato-stained blanket close to him, Red came to a resolution. Doing nothing never got anyone anywhere. Tomorrow he was going to do a little... digging. He sighed, closed his eyes, and pulled the blanket all the way over his head. Maybe if he covered himself entirely he could completely hide from life.


	2. Lint

**Disclaimer #1** : Angry Birds is © Rovio Entertainment Ltd. I do not claim ownership of the characters in this story.

 **Disclaimer #2** : Only last night and this morning did I read Sammy Heroes' story, "Blue Lullaby". In said story, the writer also had an older female character who ran an orphanage and whom had raised Red. They also had Chuck reading a newspaper while talking to Red as I had in mine. I'll take it to my grave when I say that I had no idea that the same elements in my story were also in theirs. So, Sammy Heroes, my apologies for this. I wasn't at all stealing from your story and was legitimately just writing my own thing. Looks like we're both of the same mind. Ha-ha. (08/24/16)

* * *

"Mmm. Hm. Hm. Not this. Not this. Not this. Mm. Mm. Nope. NOPE. NnnnnOPE. HA! _Likeshedeveradmitthat_... AHHHH! OH MY GOSH. NO WAY."

Chuck was sitting on a three-legged bar stool at the little bar counter at the back of his house, sipping espresso and reading the morning newspaper, flipping through the pages like it was nobody's business. For some reason, his nest hosted a bar even though he barely used it. Perhaps he just hoped a party would come to call; that someone would suggest spending a sleepover at his pad and socialize instead of him having to organize all the get-togethers for a change...

But whatever. Not that it mattered. There were far more important things to focus on at the moment. Penelope had been caught stealing hatchling clothes and there was a screaming headline for it splattered all over the front page of The Early Worm.

"You done got snitched, girl...," Chuck muttered to himself, pulling his arm away from propping up his cheek, arresting the coffee mug, and attacking it with another sharp sip... hiccuping a little as he put down the cup.

There was a rather mischievous grin on his face... Though Chuck was known to have a sensitive side, it rarely surfaced, popping up for a much-needed breath of air only when deemed absolutely necessary. The vexatious side of him - the almost ever-present playful, cocky, slightly annoying side - that was much more persistent loved gossip, and this particular story definitely qualified as 100% juicy. He eyes darted back and forth as he perused the article, his mind working almost as fast as his body, going on overload as it read through the latest news unsettlingly fast.

 _Flip, flip, flip..._

All of Chuck's flipping couldn't drown out the distant sound of a slight creak outside his front door...

"It's open!" he called out, attention still mainly focused on the newspaper.

The door creaked open and Red stepped over the threshold. He was sporting a very worn, very dusty backpack that had probably once been a dark brown... but was now more of a puke yellow in color. For someone who was normally very organized he looked an uncharacteristically disheveled mess. There was wet sand clinging to his talons, his head feathers stuck out at odd angles, and his expression reeked of disconcert and agitation.

Chuck, of course, did not notice this immediately, but he did smile at the arrival of his best friend on the doorstep.

"How the heck did you know it was me?!" snapped Red, a little too nervously.

Chuck only shrugged and smiled... perhaps a bit cockily.

"Ugh," Red grunted, trying... and failing... to smooth out his ruffled feathers. At least he managed to scrape most of the sand off his feet. "Chuck..," he continued, breathing heavily, "... we have to talk."

Chuck didn't answer at first, but slowly put down his cup and newspaper.

"Is this about the tomato stains?" Chuck asked, not at all tentatively. As he talked, he pushed against the counter top to slowly swivel around in his chair to face Red. "Because I _swear_... I did not eat the..."

But at this, he took a sharp intake of breath before zooming up to Red and examining every inch of him.

"Red, what happened to you?!" Chuck gasped, pulling up Red's right wing to look under his arm. "Who did this to you? Was it Bomb? Matilda?" he rolled off, inspecting Red's eyes, his beak, his legs... "Oh my gosh. Red...," he whispered, actually zipping off to hide behind the counter and peek out at Red from behind it. "Are you doing... _seed_?"

At this, Red was speechless. Chuck's overreaction seemed to have sparked life back into the old Red, however, for he grabbed hold of his composure a little. He stared at the kinetic little canary, mouth hanging open.

"Chuck, when have I _ever_ done something like that? Do I _honestly_ look like that kind of guy?"

"Mmm. I dunno. You might be," replied the little speed demon, resting his cheek on his knuckles and giving Red a rather presumptuous grin.

"Chuck, don't even _act_ like you don't do that stuff yourself," Red boldly retorted.

"Huh...?" questioned Chuck, lifting his cheek off his hand a touch... and actually looking a little hurt.

"Come on, man. How else could you go that fast?"

"Oh no, actually. It's all natural," Chuck brightened up, understanding then what Red was saying.

"Pff. Yeah, right," said Red, smirking.

"No, really! I actually can go that fast."

Red paused, wide-eyed.

"Wow...," said Red, hanging his arms in humility. "I... actually didn't know that until now."

Chuck grinned smugly... then zoomed back over to Red, any animosity forgiven as quickly as it had come.

"So! What's up?" asked Chuck, looking quite ready for adventure, his tail feathers wagging and his whole attention focused solely on Red.

Red sighed deeply, partially due to Chuck - he _could_ be a rather exhausting friend to hang out with sometimes - and partially due to what he had to say. He wasn't used to revealing big information like this, and, to some degree, it unnerved him. He wasn't sure what Chuck would have to say about this, but Red couldn't not say anything. Chuck was his best friend, after all...

"Phew. Okay, so... don't get... too excited or anything, but... I kinda... sorta... have a lead on who my parents are..."

He slowly turned away as he said all this, rubbing his arm self-consciously, his gaze at the floor becoming more and more pronounced with each passing word... as if embarrassed to admit that he had feelings beyond anger.

Chuck's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and a grin steadily grew wider and wider on his face... pushing up his cheeks as he broke into a full-out, open-mouthed, gaping smile. He actually started vibrating a little, doing his utmost to hold it all in...

"Don't get too excited!" warned Red, holding his hands out in front of him as if to say "stop".

"Eeeeeeeeeeee...! _Really_..?!" Chuck exclaimed, loudly popping Red's personal bubble as he thrust his face up into Red's.

"Uhhhh... Yeah... Really...," Red replied, beyond uncomfortable.

"AHHHHHHHH! THIS IS SO EXCITING!" screamed Chuck, bouncing and zooming around the room for a full three seconds before colliding into Red again, his hands gripping Red's arm in an act of pure ecstasy and delight. "WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET THEM?!"

Red actually chuckled as he gently tried to push Chuck off him.

"Aha-ha. Chuck, I only just got a _lead_. It's... probably not even anything at all...," he said offhandedly, shrugging it off in a rather defeated fashion...

"Red, don't say that. It could be the answer to where your parents went! Oh, tell me more. Tell me! Tell me!" Chuck nipped back, jumping up and down rapidly.

"Okay, man!" chuckled Red, significantly calmer than he was before, although his feathers were still a little ruffled. "Come on. I'll explain on the way..."

As they descended the precarious stairs to Chuck's home, Red making sure to watch his step lest he slip on a particularly smooth one and fall, Red made sure to explain every detail to his curious friend. Over-excited though he still was over his findings, albeit to a lesser degree, for once he was quite enjoying talking for an extended period of time. It felt relieving to get these findings and feelings off of his chest... and to know that whom he was telling them to was someone who actually cared...

Chuck hung onto every word, nodding in agreement or shaking his head thoughtfully or concernedly when appropriate. He didn't miss a beat, that bird, and upon the detailed conclusion he was decidedly puzzled, yet genuinely excited for his friend, for it was most certainly an interesting morning for Red, and one that bears repeating...

* * *

Red had awoken early that morning, and had taken great care _not_ to make coffee. He knew Chuck could smell it from a mile away and didn't want another... incident. One wasted scoop of grounds was enough. However, he did take care to search his house thoroughly for any clues whatsoever as to his parentage before setting off for the nursery. Not that it had made much of a difference. He knew even before he searched that the most he'd find in the way of personal memorabilia would be a small collection of Mighty Eagle comics, sculpting tools (including an actual mini model of his house), a Mighty Eagle poster, his record player (and a few records to go with it), a crudely-drawn colored sketch of himself that a little kid had once given him as a present during one of his past jobs, and a box of crackers. There were no family photos. No hand-written letters sent from distant relatives. No embarrassing presents from a great aunt. No money collected from a dead uncle's will. No nothing. It was sad that the most regular inhabitant of Red's drawers was dust, but Red just took it for granted. Living alone sometimes rewarded oneself with collectibles, but not him. It came with the package...

His search did reveal one thing he hadn't expected, however. A backpack. He'd found it cowering underneath his bed, of all places. It was very old, very battered, and very loved. Shaking crimson wings cradled the beat up little thing... and held it close to a chest puffing in and out with each trembling breath. Red closed his eyes tight in remembrance as he tightly hugged such a personal relic. His backpack. How had he forgotten it...? Why did it end up underneath the bed? Holding it out in front of him, Red caressed the pack... and smiled. Though he couldn't for the life of him remember exactly when he had obtained it, he clearly remember where he had gotten it: in a stick-built wastepaper bin in the schoolyard. He had been just a young hatchling then, and he recalled one of his classmates, Billy, throwing out the little backpack in disgust.

"I can't believe my mom got me such a boring backpack!" he had complained to one of his friends. "I wanted the cool red one! I _told_ her so!"

Young Red had seen the whole, sad ordeal from behind a tree and made to rescue the discarded treasure soon after Billy and his friend had disappeared. As he brushed trash and sand from the backpack, he held it safely in his wings, as a mother might hold a very small child, before slinging it onto his back. He glared at Billy's back in disgust and stuck his tongue out at him. _He_ didn't think it was a bad little backpack at all. He would have been grateful to have a mother who loved him enough to get him a backpack, or any mother at all...

The gift had been his gift ever since, and finding it again sparked distant memories, some of which he fondly recalled, others of which he would have preferred to stay hidden in the deep recesses of his brain. That grin stayed plastered to his face as he slung his battered friend onto his back... until he heard the rattle. He paused, frowned, took off the backpack, unhinged the straps, and opened it up. Inside was...

"Oh my gosh..."

A feather. A single, crimson feather. He remembered...

He remembered being in the nursery. He remembered... finding a red feather lying in a box underneath the lost and found nest in the orphanage. He remembered always carrying it around as a youngster. He remembered... pretending that it had belonged to his mother or his father... He remembered, as a youngster, putting it in his backpack... He remembered... growing too old for his backpack and thrusting it underneath his bed years and years and years ago...

He stared at the feather for a long time, then shook his head... This could have belonged to any bird. He was sure he wasn't the only egg to have been put in the lost and found nest all those years ago. But then... there was the timing of when he found the feather to consider. He couldn't have been more than a few years old. A good few years of his life had been spent in that orphanage. What if that feather he found... had, indeed, belonged to a relative...?

Red ran. Red ran as fast as his stamina would allow. Even Chuck would have been probably impressed. He ran all the way from the beach... into the village... and right to the doorstep of Mrs. Finch's Orphanage.

 _BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG._

Red was still panting hard when the door finally opened a minute later. Red straightened himself up to his full height as Mrs. Finch delivered herself open the doorstep. She was the only bird in the entire village that he had the utmost respect for, as she was the only individual he ever knew as a youngster who had actually cared about him... and the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. But Red had been a troubled bird, and had gone through more than anyone ever ought to have gone through, and despite all of her care and love and affection... she could only shield him from so much in the world. Still, even though he rarely visited her these days, he held great appreciation for her.

Mrs. Finch was quite old by this time and needed a cane or two to get around, but that didn't stop her from launching herself forward and embracing Red like a prodigal son at the sight of him on the doorstep.

"Red!" she exclaimed in a croaky voice, hugging him lovingly - a bit too lovingly.

"M-Ms. Finch! Y-You're choking me!" squeezed out Red, coughing and panting as she released him.

"Oh! Sorry, Red. You'll have to forgive an old bird. Don't know my own strength," Mrs. Finch chuckled, stepping back to give him some air.

Slightly out of breath though he was, Red couldn't help but smile.

"It's good to see you again," panted Red.

"Well, same to you too, honey. It's only been about three months since you last came to see me! Keepin' an old lady hangin' like that. Where you been?" asked the old bird in a reprimanding tone.

"Oh... you know... Out. Saving the world. Destroying pig castles. Getting into trouble. All that good stuff," said Red.

"Hm. So I've heard. You've been making rather a spectacle of yourself out there. Would've kicked some piggy butt with y'all myself, but I just don't have the strength for that kind of thing anymore," Mrs. Finch replied, to which Red blushed a little. He always had been one to draw attention to himself, albeit unintentionally.

"You sure have the strength to still choke me half to death," nipped Red playfully. Mrs. Finch simply smirked at him.

"Come on inside. I wanna talk with you..." she said, gesturing him inside.

"Uh, actually, I'm... kind of in a hurry... I-I just have a quick question to ask. It's... s-sort of important..," Red replied hurriedly, but he stepped over the threshold despite himself and followed Mrs. Finch into a side parlor.

It looked exactly as he remembered it, right down to the last feather cushion and flower-painted tea cup. Same table and chairs. Same bookcases. Same carpeting. Nothing had changed, but Red rather appreciated the quaintness of it all. Frankly, though, even as a child Red had never understood why Mrs. Finch had such breakable antiques as fine china displayed in an orphanage, of all places. But, he supposed, an old bird needed her pleasures in life.

Despite himself, Red couldn't help but peruse the room, taking in the nostalgia of the moment - the geriatric sights and familiar smells of the place. Peppermint. He remembered that scent well, all right. Coconut oil and oranges, too. And old books. Red never was much of a book-lover, but he always did like the smell of them.

Mrs. Finch had, by this time, taken a seat in a corner chair that was completely made out of feathers.

Red sighed deeply to himself, smiling. Uh-oh. She had sat down. If he was going to say anything he had better do it and do it now, otherwise there was no hope of escape for a good two hours at least.

"Ma'am, I know it's been a long time since we last talked, but... I-I can't stay," Red sighed. "I just... wanted to ask you kind of an... important question...," he said, stepping up to where she sat and respectfully kneeling down to her eye level.

"Well... if you're in a hurry then you'd better do what you gotta do," Mrs. Finch sighed in reply, doing her best not to look too disappointed. "But you owe me one, little crab. You owe me two hours worth of conversation," she replied, a smirk playing on her face and a finger pointing threateningly at him in mock reprimand.

Red couldn't help but feel a smile creep up his face as he chuckled and gave a sharp nod in reply.

"You got it," he said.

"Well, what is it that you have to say?" Mrs. Finch asked, sinking even deeper into her chair.

"I was wondering if you could tell me anything... about this...," said Red, pulling out the red feather he'd found earlier and holding it up for her to take.

"A feather...?" Mrs. Finch asked, puzzled, as she took the feather, holding it in a pinch between her fingers. She rotated it a couple of times, the better to look it over. Then she shrugged. "It's just as red as any other."

"Just as red as me, you mean," Red offered.

"I suppose. What? You don't like it? I always thought red suited you. You wouldn't look half as strapping in blue," chuckled Mrs. Finch, her tone kind and playful. Red, however, didn't acknowledge her joke, but plunged on.

"No, I mean... I don't know any other bird on the island with feathers... quite as red as mine. But... I found this one years ago when I was a hatchling here... in the orphanage..."

"Here? In the orphanage..?" questioned Mrs. Finch, staring at the feather with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes. Specifically in the nursery. I found it in the box underneath the lost and found nest and I... sorta hung onto it. And I thought that... maybe...," he sighed, bracing himself at the thought of sounding completely ridiculous. "I-I thought that... maybe... it had once belonged to my... parents...," Red spieled out, almost in a whisper.

"Oh, honey...," Mrs. Finch replied, rather sad and sorrowfully, comprehension dawning on her. "Red, this feather... was the only other thing sitting on the front porch when... you were dropped off here... as an egg. I never knew who left it... I tried to find 'em. Asked around. Put up posters. Hm. Even went searching around the island myself a bit. Never could find out anythin'. I was gonna tell you about the feather when you were old enough, but I couldn't find the thing by that time. I didn't know it was you that had taken it..."

Red sighed, his gaze fixated on the floor at this point.

"Red, honey... look at me. Come on now. Look at me," Mrs. Finch encouraged him... and he did look up. She reached out and gently scooped his wing in hers. "Sweet heart, sometimes... people just disappear... without rhyme or reason. That doesn't mean they never loved us."

"Right...," mumbled Red.

He looked so downcast and upset that she couldn't help but titter in reply.

"Hm. You always were a firecracker. A nippy little crab lost in the sand. But your temper ain't done got to me yet. You always were my favorite of the bunch, but don't you tell nobody," she said, her kind smile turning serious.

Despite it all, Red looked up at her and smiled.

He left the orphanage not too long after, thoroughly downtrodden. Mrs. Finch hadn't given him much of a clue except that whomever had abandoned him and orphaned this feather also. He had hoped that she, of all birds, would have had some explanation as to his parents' where-a-bouts from this crucial bit of evidence. But no. There was nothing. At least he knew that the feather did belong to a possible relative, but where would they even be at this point...? He felt like he was grasping at dust floating in the breeze. It was like searching for a lost grain of sand out of many; like reaching into deep pockets and finding only lint...

As he trudged down the road, lost in thought and growing more depressed with each passing second, something blue actually catapulted past him.

"What the...?!" he exclaimed, stopping in his tracks completely.

It wasn't too long after that he heard giggling, followed by light cheering and the abrupt appearance of two blue fluffballs as they darted past him.

"That was great, Jake! Can you go farther next time?!" one of them shouted, waddling excitedly towards his brother... who had landed in a bucket of worms outside of a shop nearby.

"Hee hee. Yeah. That was cool...," the little blue hatchling named Jake said, slightly dizzy from the impact. He got over his dizziness surprisingly quickly, however. Something about the sight of Red seemed to alert him to his senses. "Uncle Red!" he screamed, positively flying out of the bucket and sprinting... fast... over to Red, his fluffy brothers following.

"Woah! Hey!" Red whipped out as he found himself getting bowled over onto his back by the three brothers.

"Uncle Red! Where've you been?!"

"We've been looking for you!"

"Come play with us!"

"Yeah, come play with us!"

"What do you have on your back...?"

"What have you been doing?

"I need to go to the bathroom..."

"All right. All right. Come on up...," Red sighed, finally able to get a word in as he struggled to sit up. He shook his head, but smiled a little in spite of it all and ruffled one of the little hatchlings' head feathers fondly... earning a happy giggle in reply. Ever since the rescue, The Blues, three young brothers whom Red had saved from being literally roasted alive and eaten by the pigs, had taken to calling him "Uncle", and even though he pretended to be indifferent to this new moniker, secretly... he was really quite flattered by it.

"Uncle Red, are you going to the international abilities movie today?" one of the brothers asked, both knees and wings plopped firmly on Red's stomach, two wide, green eyes staring him in the face.

"Ugh. Internal acceptance movement," Red groaned, doing his best to push himself further up into a more comfortable sitting position, a rather difficult feat considering all three Blues were sitting on him.

"Hee hee! You're funny, Uncle Red," said another brother.

"When are you gonna come play with us?" asked another, sliding off Red's tummy and landing with a soft _plop_ on the sandy ground below.

"Erhm... Maybe tomorrow...," grunted Red, really not in the mood for this. But the Blues took no notice of his tone.

"What's that?" inquired the little brother who had slid off of Red, staring at the feather that Red still had clasped in his hand.

"Wha-... Oh. That..? Th-That's nothing...," Red stuttered, brushing the Blues off him as he suddenly sprang to life and stood up, making to quickly conceal the red treasure in his backpack.

"It's pretty!" said the brother named Jake, delighted.

"Where did you get that?" asked another, gaping at the feather.

"Um... Nowhere...," mumbled a defeated Red, resolving to hide it behind his back now, which didn't at all stop the Blues from running around behind him to get a better look at it. One of them actually grabbed it. "Hey!"

"Sooooo pretty...!" crooned a brother, rubbing the feather up against his cheek and closing his eyes contentedly.

"Hey! That's mine!" Red barked.

"I wanna see it!" said another brother.

"No, wait! It's my turn!" retorted the other brother.

"I had it first!"

"Lemme see it!"

But Red was too fast for them. He whipped it out of the hatchling's wings and stuffed it, rather harshly, back into his backpack, a nasty scowl mashing his face.

"Mine," he said, sticking his tongue out at them playfully.

"Aww, Uncle Red... You're no fun...," mumbled the hatchling whom Red had snatched the feather from, kicking at the ground.

"Our momma has feathers for us like that," said Jake, absentmindedly, plopping down in the dirt and picking at his talons.

"Really?" asked Red sarcastically, hitching up his backpack as he made to move on.

"Yeah, she has one for each of us!"

"Wait... Really...?" said Red, actually pausing to pay attention this time.

"Of course. All the mommas do it."

"Mine is blue!" squeaked one of the brothers.

"Jimmy, all of our feathers are blue...," Jake replied, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Oh, yeah...," said Jimmy.

"Do you...," Red cleared his throat, "Do you guys know why they give you the feathers...?"

"For protection. Duh! Didn't your momma give you one?" Jake nipped, not realizing how much his reply might sting.

"Protection...?" asked Red, ignoring the sting.

Jake sighed, as if having to explain something so simple to a much older bird took a lot of effort, and plunged into a full-on, pleasantly thorough, explanation.

"Every momma gives their baby one of their feathers when they're born. That way, we have something to remember them and to protect us if we ever get lost or if they ever go missing."

"Missing...?" Red asked, at full attention now.

"Yeah. Our momma says that if we ever can't find her it's because she'll have gone missing," said Jake, still picking at his talons habitually.

"But momma says that'll _never_ happen 'cause she _loves_ us and would never leave the island!" little Jimmy peeped out.

"Red?" asked the second brother, looking at Red's backpack in which he'd placed the feater. "Where's your momma?"

By this time, Red was breathing rather hard, his eyes wide in realization...

"Thanks, kids!" he yelled as he sprinted off in the direction of Chuck's house.

"Hey! Where's he going?!" one of the brothers asked.

"I dunno," shrugged Jake. "Hey. Let's go play sharks!"

"Yeah!" shouted Jimmy, promptly forgetting whatever they had been doing before and racing off to join his brothers.

* * *

"Soooo... your parents got lost?" Chuck asked, Red having finished his story.

Red shrugged.

"I dunno, but... I highly doubt that they're on the island."

"Oh, I would've known if they were on the island," said Chuck, smirking. "I've run all over it, remember?"

"Right. But you haven't been anywhere outside of the island... besides Piggy Island...," mused Red.

Chuck gasped.

"Maybe they're there?!"

Red thought about this for a moment, but shook his head.

"Nah. They wouldn't be..."

"Why not?!" offered Chuck, clearly excited about this theory. "What if they got captured?" He gasped. "What if they're _STILL THERE_?!"

"Chuck. Come on, man. There's no way they'd be there. Why would _they_ get captured and no other birds?"

"I dunno...," mumbled Chuck, peering behind him at a tail feather that was bothering him and smoothing it out. He smiled in satisfaction.

They'd stopped at the beach. Red stared out at the ocean. Everything seemed so... ominous out there, for once. He blinked, sighed, and sat down on a broken log near them... where he rested his hanging head in his wing and stared at the sand. Chuck followed suit, resting his wings on his legs which he stuck out in front of him.

They just sat there, staring out at the ocean, Chuck occasionally shooting Red furtive glances... which Red could full on "feel" even though he wasn't looking at him. Red was quiet for so long that Chuck actually leaned out in front of Red and stared at him concernedly.

"Red...? Are you... okay?" he asked, a frown etched on his face.

Red sighed.

"I dunno, man...," he replied. "I just... want to know..."

"Can you shooooow me..." Chuck sang quietly.

Red turned to stare at him.

"Eheh. Sorry..," Chuck blushed, smiling.

"I dunno. Maybe I'm just overthinking things," Red shrugged, turning back to gaze out at the ocean again.

"Or _maybeeeeeeee_... we should go _out there_...," nudged Chuck, grasping Red's shoulder and gesturing with a wing towards the blue beyond. Red just stared at him, flabbergasted, as Chuck smiled his toothy smile. "We still have the boat, ya' know."

"Ahhhh... I dunno...," Red said, flopping his cheek back onto his wing. "We just got home a month ago. I don't wanna go back out there _again_..."

"Not even for your parents?" pushed Chuck, putting on a somewhat mocking pout.

Red raised an eyebrow at him, expression quite determinedly indifferent.

"Hmmmmmm?" Chuck pushed further, smirking right up in Red's face.

Red glared back.

" _Hmmmmmmmmmmmm?_ "

Red sighed deeply.

"Go get Bomb," he groaned.

"AHHHHH-HA-HA! YES!" Chuck practically screamed, and he zoomed off before Red even had a chance to blink.

Red turned around, staring off at where Chuck had disappeared to, and shook his head before turning back to stare at the sea.

"Crazy bird," Red muttered to himself, smiling.


End file.
